by Neil Hunter
‘You were a good friend to Nante,’ Geronimo said. ‘When he asked you to come you came without question. Nante asked you to help his people. I ask this too. This crazy one — Benito — is making it hard for all Apaches who are thinking of surrender. As long as Benito kills and destroys it makes a lie of our words of peace. I know Benito. His hate is deep and the peyote has poisoned his mind to reason. He must be stopped, Brand, and also this white who gives him guns and whiskey. If you can do this then perhaps I will meet with Crook and we can talk peace.’
‘I’ll try. Can’t say more.’
Geronimo stared at him for a long time, his eyes boring into Brand’s. Then he nodded stiffly.
‘The story is still told how you hunted down the one named Lobo and killed him. Any man who could do that is the equal of Benito. Word will reach me if you succeed or not. The right way will run its own course.’
Turning away Geronimo spoke a few words in Apache to Niana. Then he padded to the window, eased himself across the sill and vanished into the night.
Brand sat on the edge of the bed. He glanced at Niana, smiling.
‘If that don’t beat all,’ he commented. He was thinking about Crook and Al Sieber, imagining their reaction if they knew Geronimo had been right in their midst. At the thought of seeing Sieber’s face Brand couldn’t help chuckling to himself.
‘Why do you laugh, Brand?’ Niana asked, her pretty face creased in a frown.
‘You wouldn’t understand,’ Brand said. ‘By the way, what did Geronimo say to you before he scooted out the window?’
Niana drew herself upright. Brand was sure he saw a flush on her cheeks.
‘It was nothing,’ she said softly.
‘What was nothing?’ Brand persisted.
‘That I should see to your needs as any good Apache woman should for her man.’
Brand didn’t press the point. He understood what Geronimo had meant. He watched Niana’s face, still smiling slightly, and in the end the girl turned abruptly and left the room, closing the door with a solid bang.
Brand lay down, ready for sleep. All in all it had been one hell of a day. And there was still tomorrow to come.
Chapter Five
Ed Hamner watched the distant pair of riders through a shimmering heat haze. The only emotion he felt was one of relief. Hamner and his partner, Dan Yorrick, had been sitting on their pile of rocks since the previous night, waiting for the man called Brand to show. If Bigelow’s information was right, and it usually was, Brand would be heading for the border and Sonora. His trail would bring him right by this place. Hamner didn’t have the patience for such a long wait. He was no damned Apache, able to sit in one spot for days if necessary. Hamner needed action. Something to relieve the boredom.
He was too impulsive — he admitted to that — and it got him into trouble on a regular basis. Like the tangle with Brand back at San Carlos. He felt sweat break out at the memory. It had got close to the edge. Close enough to almost drag them all into a gunfight. Hamner didn’t have any desire to face Brand’s gun. He knew the man’s reputation. Brand was one of those men who stayed calm during a face-off. He didn’t lose control. Which was why he was able to walk away and leave his opponents on the ground.
Hamner glanced across at Yorrick. His partner looked as if he was asleep, his hat pulled down across his face to shield his bruises from the hot sun. Hamner didn’t envy Yorrick’s condition. His face was badly swollen. His nose was crushed almost flat and he’d lost a tooth. Both his lips were split and raw. The heat and dust were making life miserable for Yorrick. He was in a foul mood, so Hamner decided it was wiser to leave the man alone. Maybe Yorrick would cheer up once he knew the long wait was almost over.
Easing back from the rim of rock Hamner picked up his canteen and took a swallow. The water was brackish and warm, but it eased his parched throat a little. For a moment he wished the canteen was full of whiskey. He dismissed the thought. Out here in this damn country a man needed his wits about him. Especially if he was drifting towards a showdown.
Hamner picked up his rifle, glad now that he’d kept it under a shallow outcropping, away from the heat of the sun. He used his hand to brush away the fine layer of dust that had settled on the weapon. He’d had the Winchester for a long time, looking after it well, and he’d used it to kill a number of men. The rifle had never let him down yet. He cared for it as well as he did for the Colt on his hip. They were the tools of his trade and when the moment came he had to know the guns would respond instantly. His very existence depended on their performance. Whatever else he might be, Ed Hamner was no fool when it came to looking after his weapons.
Turning back to the rim he eased the Winchester to his shoulder and took a long sighting on the distant riders. He had no intention of doing any shooting at the moment. Brand and the Apache girl were still well out of range. Hamner was simply indulging himself. There was no hurry. San Carlos lay a long ways back. Yorrick and Hamner could take their time over this kill. Brand had a long ride ahead of him and his trail would take him across a wide territory of barren land. Bigelow didn’t want Brand and the girl to reach their intended destination. It was what he was paying Hamner and Yorrick to prevent. He’d get his money’s worth, but it would be done in Hamner’s own time. When he was ready.
He tired of his game and turned to stare at Yorrick. On impulse he stretched out a leg and poked Yorrick in the side with the toe of his boot.
Yorrick jerked upright, his hand snatching for the gun on his hip. His slitted eyes touched on Hamner’s grinning features and he slumped back with a low growl. ‘What the hell you do that for? Times are you’re a mean son of a bitch!’
‘It’s what makes me so likable,’ Hamner said evenly. ‘Just thought you might like to know who’s passin’ by.’
Yorrick scrambled up to the rim and stared out across the sun-blasted terrain. It was hard to see far through his watering, near-closed eyes, and the glare of the sun hurt them. Yorrick blinked furiously, frustration rising as he tried to focus on the distant riders. He was eventually able to make out Brand and the Apache girl, Niana.
Anger rose, bile in his throat as Brand’s image burned into his mind. It was going to give him a great deal of satisfaction to kill Brand. Pain flared in his battered face as a reminder of what Brand had done. Yorrick was not a man who forgave easily, and he had good reason to hate Jason Brand.
He grabbed up his rifle, cursing as the hot metal seared his fingers. Working the lever he jacked a shell into the breech and jammed the stock against his shoulder.
‘Dan, put the damn gun down!’ Hamner’s voice reached him through a mist of rage that flooded his senses.
‘What?’Yorrick glared at his partner. ‘What you sayin’?’
‘You ain’t goin’ to hit them from here. They’s too far off. Hell, you might as well try to pee on ’em. Do as much damage and it’ll save you a bullet.’
Yorrick continued to stare along the rifle’s barrel. He muttered under his breath, angered because Hamner was right of course. Brand was way out of range. He spat in frustration and slid down below the rim, hugging the rifle to his body.
‘I want that son of a bitch!’ he said with feeling.
‘Ease off,’ Hamner told him. ‘We’ll get him. Ain’t no need to rush. He’s got a way to go. No people around. Just wide open spaces. All we got to do is bide our time and pick a spot.’
Yorrick grunted. He had to give it to Ed. He had the knack of looking ahead and spotting the snags before they got in the way. Hamner had patience. He could wait for as long as it took. Yorrick was the opposite. He wanted things to happen now. Waiting got to him. He admitted it was a bad fault because it got him into trouble more times than not. His gut feeling told him to get to Brand and kill him … and the girl. What about the girl? For an Apache she wasn’t bad-looking. She’d have to die too … but maybe not right away. Yorrick felt a stirring in his groin. It would be a damn shame not to make the most of an opportunity. The thought gave him some comfort and
he settled against the warm rock, content to wait it out, and conjured up a fantasy in his mind that had Niana as its focal point.
Chapter Six
Since leaving San Carlos, Brand and the Apache girl, Niana, had barely exchanged more than a half-dozen words. There seemed to be little between them. Brand had his own problems to mull over, while Niana appeared to be occupied with thoughts of her own. Brand was still coming to terms with the dramatic change in her appearance. The buckskin dress had gone, replaced by a faded multicolored blouse and tight buckskin pants. She also wore knee length, traditional Apache moccasins: n’deh b’keh. She had cut away her long hair, leaving a ragged, shoulder-length cut with a red headband. Around her waist she wore a scarred, much-used gun rig, with short-barreled Colt .44-40 snug in the holster. Brand had seen belt and gun before. It had belonged to Nante. When Niana had first appeared in her new guise Brand hadn’t recognized her. He thought she was an Apache boy — but he had quickly realized his mistake. No Apache buck had the kind of shape lurking beneath such manly clothing.
‘I have ponies ready,’ she had said. ‘Where we go a pony is better than a horse. Yours will be cared for until we return.’ She allowed a wry smile to touch her lips. ‘Will you be able to ride the Apache way?’
Brand had known what she meant. No saddle. Just a blanket and a single braided rope for a rein.
‘I reckon I’ll get by,’ he had told her.
Outside she had everything ready. Ponies waiting. Each animal carried supplies and water skins. Niana had mounted up and sat waiting while Brand went for a final word with Sieber and General Crook.
‘You all ready?’ Sieber had asked. He peered at Brand across the rise of his saddle as he tightened slack cinch straps.
Brand nodded. He had caught sight of Sieber’s young Apache scout watching him, and he had wondered what went on behind that expressionless face.
‘You heading back to Fort Apache?’
Al Sieber grunted a curt response.
‘Crook’s got an itch in his ass telling him Geronimo’s somewhere close by. Looks like we’re going to spend the next few weeks chasin’ shadows again.’
Brand had held back a grin. Crook didn’t know just how right he was. He had to bite back the desire to tell Sieber about his nocturnal visitor.
The clatter of hoofs had drawn Brand’s attention. He had turned as General Crook reined in close by.
‘Brand. I wish you luck.’
‘Thanks, General, I figure I’m going to need it.’
Crook had given one of his hearty laughs.
‘You’ll do it, Mr. Brand. I have every confidence in you.’ The General held back his impatient mount. ‘Ready and waiting for you, Mr. Sieber!’ he boomed, reining about to join his waiting troop.
‘Sometimes,’ Al Sieber had said, ‘just sometimes I wish he wouldn’t be so damn cheerful about everything.’
‘Take care, Al,’ Brand had said, turning away.
Sieber’s voice had reached him almost in a whisper.
‘And you, boy. I want to see you again. Up and walking around.’
Brand had raised a hand in farewell. Despite the fact that Sieber’s words had been well meant he had felt a momentary doubt cross his mind. He had pushed it aside. There had been little time to dwell on it as he approached the waiting ponies and the still figure of Niana. He suddenly spotted a tall figure standing in the shadowed doorway of the administration building.
Tom Horn.
‘Got everything you need, Jason?’ Horn’s voice had held a faintly mocking tone.
Brand had felt the old hostility rise and he had glanced at Horn, not missing the challenge in the younger man’s eyes.
‘Least ways you won’t get bored out there,’ Horn had continued. ‘Not with that little Apache ass to warm your blanket at night.’
Brand had turned. He had not made any abrupt movement and Horn had stepped aside as Brand walked by, into the building. The second he was inside Brand turned, so that as Horn strolled in, still with that arrogant smirk on his face, he was waiting. The moment Horn crossed the threshold Brand acted. He simply and solidly hit Horn, his big fist catching the unsuspecting man across the jaw. The force of the blow drove Horn to the floor, blood streaking his slack mouth.
‘Stay out of my way, Tom,’ Brand had said gently. ‘Next time I might just have to kill you!’
And then he had walked back outside to where Niana waited. Without a backward glance he had mounted his pony and had led the way off the San Carlos reservation.
Looking at Niana now he wondered if she had heard what Horn had said. He didn’t think it would have mattered much to her if she had. Niana had a strong spirit, something she must have inherited from Nante. It would take more than a sly remark to upset her.
‘Did you know we are being watched?’
The sound of her voice cut through Brand’s thoughts. He did not react, but simply asked:
‘Where?’
‘On the left,’ she said. ‘There are many rocks. I have seen two men waiting in them.’
‘Apache?’
Niana gently shook her head.
‘Pinda Lickoyi,’’ she told him.
Bran had seen the up thrust of rock rising from the baked earth like a massive rotted tooth. It lay well to their left, beyond rifle-range. He decided the best thing to do was keep riding. Whoever was in the rocks owned the only decent cover available. Brand scanned the way ahead, trying to locate some place that might offer similar protection for Niana and himself. There was nothing, the terrain in front of them lay flat and open. It was a case of acting as if they suspected nothing and kept on riding.
The next question was who?
Brand could only think of two likely candidates. The pair he had clashed with back at San Carlos. They had made it clear, though denying it, that they had more than a passing interest in him. It seemed likely that whatever their reason it would not have vanished. Someone, somewhere, wanted Brand watched — or something more drastic.
But why?
Had his summons to Nante’s side caught the attention of unfriendly ears? It was possible. There were plenty of individuals around San Carlos — white and Indian, who might be easily persuaded to keep an ear to the ground. Someone was supplying Benito’s Apaches with guns and whiskey. It was a profitable trade to be in, and whoever was behind the set-up did not need someone like Jason Brand poking his nose in. Brand didn’t fool himself. He was known in this part of the country. So was his close friendship with Al Sieber and the late Nante.
Brand didn’t let his speculation draw his attention from the matter at hand. He still favored finding a place where he and Niana might secure themselves some decent cover. He was beginning to feel overexposed out on this flatland. Off to their right, though a good distance away, the foothills of the Galiuro Mountains showed. Too far to be of any help.
‘Start to ease west,’ he said to Niana, and when the Apache girl looked at him he said: ‘If I’ve got it right those two watching us are the same ones I fought with back at San Carlos. Doesn’t take much figuring they haven’t trailed us out here just to tell us funny stories.’
‘They want to kill us?’
Brand nodded. ‘I’m damn certain of it.’
‘Then we should stand and fight!’
Her young face wore an expression that might have stopped a lesser man. Brand ignored it.
‘Out here? Where they can keep us in their sights all the time? Look, I might be prone to picking up my gun somewhat on the quick side. Stupid I’m not. If there’s a chance for us I want the odds in our favor as well. That means getting into those foothills. I’ll feel a lot safer sitting behind a large rock. They stop bullets a sight better than a shirt front.’
He sensed Niana’s stubborn nature forming more questions.
‘Forget it, Niana. I don’t have the time or the inclination to waste words over this. Just start moving west. Once they figure what we’re up to they’ll come running. When that happens and I yel
l, you hit that pony and just keep on riding. You hear?’
Niana, her back straight and stiff, stared at him for a while. Then her dark head acknowledged his words.
‘I hear, Jason Brand.’
They rode on, gradually taking the ponies in a gentle curve which set them on a course that would bring them to the foothills of the Galiuros. Brand kept the pace slow, though his mind was racing ahead, judging the distance they had to cover before they reached the safety of the rocky slopes. He tried to put himself in the place of the two men following them — how soon would they figure out his move? It depended on how fast their minds worked: whether they suspected he was deliberately making for the foothills. For all they knew this could actually be his line of travel. Even that wasn’t going to hold them for long. Regardless of the reason he was heading for the foothills, it still boiled down to the fact that he would eventually reach cover. Once he did they would lose a good chance of taking him in comparative comfort out here on the flatland. A good man with a rifle could pick them off easily. And once they reached the rocky slopes the game would change pace. It could become a dragged-out seek-and-find conflict, with no clear cut conclusion.
The gap closed with agonizing slowness. By now their stalkers must have left the place where they had been waiting. Brand was starting to get an itchy spot right between his shoulders. He eased around, glancing over his shoulder, and his body stiffened.
He’d been right. They were coming and damned fast, too. A cloud of pale dust rose behind the hard-pushed horses. Brand lifted his rifle from where he had it across his thighs, working the lever. Niana’s ears caught the sound and she looked across at him, then beyond. Her keen eyes spotted the riders.
‘Go,’ Brand snapped, making it clear there was no time for questions or hesitation.
Niana responded to his command, drumming her heels into her pony’s sides.
As her pony drew away from him Brand threw another quick glance over his shoulder. The pair were really pushing their animals, closing fast. He slammed in his heels and felt his sturdy pony respond. Niana was well in front, bending low across her pony’s neck, urging it on to even greater speed.